ER

Today we got one of those phone calls. The kind that usually come in the middle of the night scaring you half to death.

Apparently my dad fell, and was asking for Poe to come help him. OK, fine. So, Poe went to help. Apparently he had fallen outside while working. Badly. Seriously hit his head (blood,) arm (more blood,) knees (even more blood,) – oh and his arm hurt. Like too much. Poe decided he was going to the hospital.

And my father said yes.

Coming from a man who treats cuts that absolutely should be sutured with crazy glue, this meant it was serious.

Poe called me to let me know what was going on. Of course, I gave him the litany – ID, medical card, medications and dosages – and then made sure my mother didn’t need me there. My dad takes care of her – from food to meds to testing her blood glucose. She said she was fine and would call me if necessary. I was on kid duty, with another pickup coming and the homework. While that sounds banal while my father was on the way to the hospital, and my mother was holed up in her house, trust me when I say that disrupting the homework routine would mean that everything was NOT OK to the kids – and I didn’t want to scare them. Which was confirmed, when I explained why dad wasn’t there to Joseph. He was silent, and when I looked, big fat tears were coming down his big 9 year old face.

So. Dad had X-rays, EKG, and Cat scan. Yeah, he hit his head that hard. Knees will scab and be sore. Arm didn’t need stitches, but has a huge bandage. Head CT is all clear… Except he dislocated his shoulder. Which prompted morphine for the serious pain. of the dislocation, plus the – er – relocation? of his arm.

So, why is my husband a saint?

The man got him up, cleaned up, dressed (my dad thought he would shower first but was in too much pain), and fly zipped. Then took him to the hospital and spent the next 5 hours with him while they put him through pain, and then watched his 74-year-old father in law flirt with nurses and tell war stories on morphine.

Oh, and caught my father flipping him off on the camera phone. Which I should so post.

He then came home and told ME how grateful he is that I care about my parents so much.

Knighthood. Sir Poe. That might be his new name here.

You know… People think I’m exagerrating when I say weird crap happens to us. I’m not.

Like how every time my parents go out of town, something happens. Or anytime I want a vacation, something happens. It’s true.

So, let’s see. This week – all I wanted is a vacation, before I started concentrating on my home, and my business. I sound like a barking seal, so I’ve spent most of this week heavilly medicated. Joseph’s IEP blew up with the state so I have a big meeting on Friday to try to fix it. And last but not least (it is only Thursday) stitches.

This is the last week at after school care (my vacation remember?) If there’s a problem with after school care, they usually call my husband first, rather than me, because Poe is the one who goes and gets them. Fine. Yesterday, Poe called me. It’s always bad when someone leads with “He’s OK, but…” Turns out that Logan was running on the playground, tripped over another kid, and landed face first on the asphalt. Could he please be picked up so that we can determine if he needs stitches? So I rush to get ready, and rush to go get him. And yeah, the open wound on his chin looks like it might still need stitches, especially since they can’t get it to stop bleeding.

First stop – Pediatrician’s office. But it’s 12pm. And therefore closed for lunch for another hour and a half. So, I took him to the hospital instead. $75 copay later, and two stitches. He was very very brave. He cried though all the numbing injections, but he didn’t thrash around and need the papoose like we did when his eye needed stitches. I didn’t even cry! And I was holding his hands, and because of the angle, I saw every.little.thing. And I didn’t pass out. Because of his heart, he’s also on the pink antibiotics as well. Can’t have an infection, you see. Still have to figure out how get a wound check done tomorrow, and still go to the meeting for Joseph.

The doctor said he could go to school today. I just can’t send him. He’s 6 and in Kindergarten. All I can think about is him running and falling on his stitches. Besides, I’ve had stitches. It’s going to hurt today, and he doesn’t need to be at school getting through that. I’ll send him tomorrow – against my better judgement – ’cause it’ll be his last day at afer school care, and he’s going to want to say goodbye to his friends.

He’s still asleep this morning, which tells me that this is a good decision. Normally, he’d have been out of bed an hour ago trying not to bug me but bugging me anyway. I might snag a picture later for posterity. Boys like documentation of their boy wounds.

My husband should be sainted

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